Five Ways Amane Bakura Didn’t Leave Her Brother
by Scribbler
Summary: Amane is a character we know nothing about, other than she was Bakura’s younger sister and died in a car crash along with his mother. But what if, by some strange miracle, things had been different – or at least there was more to them than canon told us?
1. Because You Live

**Disclaimer****: **Dishearteningly not mine.

**A/N****:** This grew out of _As Deep As the Sky_, a fic project I've been working on since August, in which I write ficlets inspired by songs but only have the duration of each song in which to write. I noticed I was collecting a couple of ficlets with the same theme and decided, after the third one, to put them together into a separate fic. As such, I've gone back and edited them, so they're quite a bit longer than anything in _As Deep As the Sky_. Amane is a character whom we know nothing about other than she was Bakura's younger sister and died in a car accident along with his mother. But what if, by some strange miracle, things had been different – or at least there was more to them than canon told us?

* * *

_**Five Ways Amane Bakura Didn't Leave Her Brother**_

© Scribbler, October 2008.

* * *

**1. **_**Because You Live **_

* * *

_Because you live and breathe,  
Because you make me believe in myself when nobody else can help;  
Because you live, girl,  
My world has twice as many stars in the sky._

-- From **Because You Live **by Jesse McCartney

* * *

Ryou looked up at Domino High School with a rising sense of dread. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be starting at a new school, in a new town, in a new _country_. He wanted his old school with its familiar corridors and teachers and subjects, not –

"For goodness' sake, Ryou, you have a face like a wet Sunday. Cheer up."

A 'whoof' of air escaped him as a hand landed squarely between his shoulder-blades. It was in exactly the right spot that no amount of bending could allow his arm to reach enough to massage the feeling back into it.

"That's easy for you to say," he grumbled.

"It'd be easy for you to say, too, if you weren't so negative."

"I'm not negative."

"Oh, puh-lease. 'But Dad, I don't _like_ the idea of a new school. Can't I just stay in England with Auntie Beryl?' You're fifteen, Ryou. You've had fifteen years plus time in the womb to grow sufficient backbone by now. Be a man. Be macho. Like this – grrr."

Despite his apprehension, Ryou couldn't help smiling at his twin's attempt to pose like a bodybuilder when she was built like a sparrow with a growth hormone deficiency. Her fine hair fountained from her head, framing her heart-shaped face as she slipped from gurning to grinning. She'd always had much less coarse hair than him, though they shared matching shades of near-white. People used to talk about some old film called 'Village of the Damned' when they were little and would sit, watching and listening to adult conversations without saying a word of their own.

"Don't giggle behind your hand like that," Amane ordered. "You look girlier than I do."

"Amane!"

"What? It's true."

"Well if you took more time to _look_ feminine, maybe it wouldn't be so easy for people to mistake us for each other."

Amane glanced down at her new uniform – pink blazer and blue skirt with knee-high socks – and then across as his navy blue trousers and blazer. "I think," she said seriously, "that if people mistake us for each other in these get-ups they should seek the help of an optician. And possibly a psychiatrist. This is going to play havoc whenever I want you to swap with me so I can sneak into town to go shopping. You'll have to start shaving your legs."

Ryou smiled again. Amane never failed to make him laugh when he was gloomy – which had been happening more and more since the death of their mother in a car accident. Only fate had stepped in and stopped Amane joining her in the wreck.

They weren't aliens with golden eyes like John Wyndham's creations, but they did share a kind of empathy that meant whenever one of them was sick, the other one experienced phantom pains. Apparently it was common in twins, and their family had always been more sensitive anyway. While their mother skidded on a wet road and wrapped her car around a tree, Amane was in the bed next to Ryou's with 'fake flu' to match his real one.

Their father had been so devastated by the loss of his wife that he withdrew completely into himself, leaving his children to deal with their grief alone. Having each other made it easier, though the rest of the world sometimes tried to invade their private little bubble and separate them. Apparently spending so much time together was unhealthy. However, if anything,the interference of others had driven the twinsfurther into each other's arms, so that they almost warded off the rest of humanity with crossed fingers. Their grief was shared, like two hands with interlocking fingers, and disentangling one was painful for the other. They healed each other until they were ready to face the world again.

Their father wasn't so lucky. Eventually he caved to his own emotions and took what remained of his family back to his hometown in Japan. He didn't so much as ask whether they wanted to leave their home and everything that was familiar and precious to them - including their mother's grave.

Ryou didn't know what he would've done if it hadn't been for Amane. When trying to win arguments he always made a big deal about being older than her by five minutes, but in truth he most often felt like he was years younger than her. Amane knew how to smile in a crisis and keep those around her buoyant even at their lowest ebb. It was she who'd encouraged their father's tentative emergence from his shell by accepting the gift he offered from his last trip abroad. Ryou thought the necklace was an ugly thing, but they took turns wearing it and it seemed to make their father happy.

"C'mon," Amane said, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the school gates. "It wouldn't do to be late on our first day."

"But what if we forget and speak English in the middle of lessons? Or if we're in separate classes? Or what if nobody likes us -?"

"Ryou," Amane chuckled, thumping him on the back again and running ahead as he gave chase, "you worry entirely too much. What does it matter if nobody likes us? We have each other, don't we?"

* * *

**A/N****:** Well nobody said how _much_ younger she was, did they?

Reviews appreciated!

* * *


	2. He Used to Be a Lovely Boy

* * *

**2. **_**He Used to be a Lovely Boy**_

* * *

_Time to leave this town,  
Now your dreams have all let you down;  
No-one here will miss you, no.  
Time to wake up and look around._

-- From _**He Used to be a Lovely Boy **_by Keane

* * *

Ryou stood by the counter, seemingly trying to decide between café-au-lait, cappuccino and espresso, but his eyes were darting everywhere except the list on the wall-mounted chalkboard. Anyone who paid him more than precursory attention would have been able to tell that while his body was relaxed, it was a forced pose. His shoulders were held level by the invisible spirit-gauge he'd installed at the base of his neck; his hands fixed in a half-curl that was neither straight-palmed fear nor a claw-fingered almost-fists. His long hair wasn't quite unkempt, but had a windswept look that was actually cultivated so he could hide his expression behind it just by tipping his head forward slightly.

"Hey, buddy," said a fat man behind him, who could practically balance his tray on his stomach without using his hands. "Move it or lose it." To emphasise, he bumped the tray against Ryou's arm.

Ryou made his selection without even looking at the board, retreated to a table in the far corner and emptied packet after packet of sugar into it, also without looking. His hands worked tirelessly, his gaze caught by the sight of the ship docked outside the third-floor café window.

_In an hour, I'll be on that_, he thought, tearing a particularly stubborn packet with his teeth and dumping it into his mug with unerring accuracy. His ticket burned in his pocket and his passport cried out from his backpack. He was travelling light for an easier, quicker getaway. _It's better this way_.

"_Who are you trying to convince – me or you? And why on earth did you choose coffee? Like __**you**__ need caffeine to make you any more on edge?"_

Ryou didn't flinch. He was long used to voices nobody else could hear – or rather, two voices nobody else could hear. Still, two or two hundred, it was enough to land him in a psychiatric ward. Ryou's head was more than a little crowded these days, and he took no comfort in the fact that he wasn't just stark raving bonkers.

"_Stop being mopey,"_ chastised this voice. _"You're making me depressed."_

"I'm making _you_ depressed?" he muttered. He still hadn't got the hang of talking _to_ the voices in his head. They heard his thoughts if he wasn't careful, but mostly he clung to actually speaking back, like a thin rope tether of his sanity trying to hold up the ten-ton anchor of reality.

The voice was silent for a long moment._ "You didn't have to leave, you know."_

"I did. Do. I have to, I mean. It's not safe if I stay. Not now."

"_I can keep you safe. You don't have to give up your whole life because of this."_

He didn't have the heart to point out that Duellist Kingdom had proved he wasn't safe anywhere, no matter how hard anyone tried to help him. Yuugi drove out the Spirit of the Ring with magic; Honda threw the damnable thing off a castle; and Ryou himself had tried to tear it off when he awoke one day to find it back around his neck. None of it had worked. When the cuts healed, he'd have scars where the pins dug in, refusing to let him go, as though they had a life of their own.

And perhaps they did.

But then again so did Ryou, and no way was he going to waste it being the pawn of some evil … _thing_. He still wasn't sure what to call whatever it was that inhabited the Ring. If his pain and anguish hadn't melded with its evil magic and punched a hole through to the spirit world, he still wouldn't be sure it was even there at all and not just a product of his own addled mind. When the Spirit was trying to possess him before it had been insidious, making him think he was just passing out from low blood sugar or exhaustion and then doing terrible things with his body as its tool. Now, however, he knew different. He knew it was there and what it wanted, and he'd learned to read the signs that it was on the attack.

He also knew how to read the writing on the wall. Graffitied across it this time was the very clear order that if he valued the friends he'd made in Domino he'd get the hell out of there and not come back until he wasn't playing host to the spirits of a malevolent piece of jewellery and his dead little sister.

"_I fought off the bloody thing before_," Amane said, trying to be reassuring. _"I can keep you safe, I promise. Don't do this to yourself, Ryou." _Ryou had an impression of her hand on his shoulder and knew that if he turned around he'd feel another lump in his throat because she wouldn't really be there. _"You were so lonely before you got here. I was watching you from the other side – I saw how grieving for me and Mum made you so isolated. But you have friends now. You shouldn't have to give that up -"_

"I won't let it hurt anyone else," he whispered fiercely.

"_So what are you planning to do?" _Her tone turned snappish and exasperated. She'd been trying to talk him out of this since she first heard the thought ricocheting around inside his skull like a phantom bullet looking for an exit._ "Keep running away for the rest of your life? Hide like a hermit in the mountains of some country whose language you don't even speak? Never make friends again? Never make __**acquaintances **__again? Live in the wilderness with only rocks and buzzards for company?"_

"I'll think of something."

"Crazy asshole."

Ryou glanced up to see the fat man leading his equally fat wife and son away from their table next to his. He sighed and finally picked up his mug, almost spitting out what he drank the moment it touched his tongue.

"_What? __**What?**__"_ Amane demanded, spiking all over with protective ghost-magic the way she always did when she felt the Spirit stirring. She stopped short of actually throwing herself across Ryou's consciousness, however._ "I don't sense the Spirit of the Ring nearby. What frightened you?"_

Ryou stuck out his tongue and rose from his chair. "I need more sugar."

"_But you've had twelve already!"_

"It's not sweet enough."

"_You'll rot your teeth before you're forty."_

"If I make it that far."

Her snappishness faded. He felt another ghostly touch, this time to his cheek, the way she always used to when she was a toddler and he pretended to read her bedtime stories when the most he could read was 'the cat sat on the mat'. Amane would never make it to forty either, but the iron resolve in her tone was that of someone much older than the thirteen she'd been when she died. _"You will, Big Brother. We'll make you all better and get rid of that horrible Spirit, I promise."_

Ryou shrugged. "Whatever."

"_It's true! Then you can come back and tell everyone here you were a pillock who should've had more faith in his little sister."_

Ryou sighed. He feigned indifference, but inside he wished she was right.

* * *


	3. Sleeping Beauty

* * *

**3. **_**Sleeping Beauty**_

* * *

_Delusional, I believed I could cure it all for you, dear;  
Coax or trick or drive or drag the demons from you,  
Make it right for you, sleeping beauty,  
Truly thought I could heal you._

-- From **Sleeping Beauty** by A Perfect Circle

* * *

Clayton Hospital was like any NHS hospital – library-quiet, even when it was teeming with people, with orderly queues everywhere and the odd outburst from somebody who'd had enough of waiting. It had the same smell as every other hospital, too; that strange blend of antiseptic and old cabbage, even though very few of the meals that came up from the canteen had cabbage in them. Squeaky shoes seemed inordinately loud under the gazes of people who had to stand outside to smoke, shivering in their dressing gowns and holding onto the poles of their drips as though the thin metal and nicotine were the only things keeping them upright.

Ryou really wished he'd changed into shoes that didn't _squeak_ so much. Still, there was no helping it now. It was three bus rides home, and he wasn't going all that way just so he could come back again. And besides, they knew him here. He and his squeaky shoes were almost as much a fixture as the bizarre statue of a naked Icarus the governors of the hospital had commissioned for the entrance – to mark the Millennium, they said. Ryou wondered what message they wanted to send, presenting the sick and helpless with the image of a man whose own arrogance got him horribly killed.

Ryou waved to Shirley, one of the receptionists who worked the dayshift at weekends. She waved back, returning his smile. As Ryou dodged between the closing doors of the lift, he heard her speaking to the woman next to her.

"Here, Beth, see that 'un? That's Ryou Bakura, that is. Lovely boy. In all the time. Anybody'd think he was a porter. Best get used to seeing him."

'Beth' was obviously new. She frowned. "Shouldn't he have signed in?"

"Nah. No need. He only comes for one reason, and it never changes."

Ryou sighed. His story was common knowledge amongst the staff – well, it would be after three years of them watching it play out like a really boring subplot of Grey's Anatomy – but still, it was never easy to have others confirm the shape his life had taken.

When Ryou was twelve he never would have imagined the twists and turns that were in store for him. How could he? He wasn't psychic; for all that his father had written a book on psychics throughout history. Dr. Bakura was preternaturally fixated on ancient cultures and their beliefs that humans could be more than what they were. His book wasn't exactly a bestseller, but it was a great favourite as some of the more esoteric universities, and he was often being invited to give speeches on the subject. Ryou had learned to avoid his father's study whenever he heard him muttering about PowerPoint and saying things like 'utter rubbish' and 'an abacus was sufficient for the Mesopotamians'.

Ryou wasn't much of a history buff himself, which had only served to widen the distance between father and son after tragedy pushed a thorn into their relationship. Their bond, never especially strong, had been slowly bleeding out for the last three years. Recently Ryou had begun to wonder whether Dr. Bakura even remembered he _had_ a son. Except for allowing them to stay in England, he certainly never acknowledged he had a daughter.

All traces of the family unit they'd once been had been erased from the house – no photos, no unused clothes, no scattered memories of babies or weddings. Ryou had hoarded some of them – grabbed them out of the plastic bags set out to be dumped at the local charity shop. Nobody else could appreciate the fine bone structure of his mother's face when she said 'I do', or the tassels his father attached to Ryou's tricycle when he'd outgrown it and passed it on to his younger sister. It was as if Dr. Bakura wanted to wipe his slate clean and start over – something Ryou made impossible simply by existing and living in the same house with him.

Maybe that was why they could go a whole week without seeing each other these days, despite sharing a kitchen and competing for the same bathroom in the mornings. If it hadn't been for the legally binding connection to Clayton Hospital, and the fact they had no other family in the UK who could take over those duties, Ryou was fairly sure his father would have moved them both back to his home country of Japan long ago. He'd heard of teenagers who lived separate from their parents over there, occupying apartments and taking care of themselves perfectly legally.

_That'd suit Dad right down to the ground._ Ryou banished the disloyal thought, sticking on his usual innocuous smile. "Hello, Francine."

The nurse at the desk looked up from her paperwork, his voice turning her lips up in a warm smile even before she'd laid eyes on him. Francine was heavyset, wore too much lipstick, and her orange foundation ended in a straight line along her jaw, but she had a nice face and always kept a smile for him.

"Hiya, Ryou. She's pretty eager to see you today."

"You reckon?" Ryou placed a small Tupperware container on the desk in front of her. "Here. I baked."

"You did?" Francine fell upon the plastic lid, wrenching it off to let out the delicious smell of fresh chocolate brownies. "My God, Ryou, you're going to turn me into such a porker. I shouldn't even be eating these here."

Ryou shrugged, embarrassed. Baking was one of the many ways he'd invented to occupy his time so he didn't go mad. He found it difficult to make friends, since he was here so much and had little time to spend hanging out with people from school. He tried to smile as much as he could, but sometimes he felt like an emotional black hole, sucking everybody else's good mood into him and extinguishing it whenever he mentioned his home life. His father was no help, but at least the kitchen was a part of the house Dr. Bakura rarely ventured into unless the coffee jar next to the kettle on the floor of his study ran out.

"I just like saying thank you for all the work you do," Ryou said awkwardly. "You and the rest of the staff here."

"Oi, Francine!" said a male nurse who'd just approached pushing what looked like a giant computer with tubes sticking out the back. "Don't hog all Ryou's baking for yourself."

Ryou recognised Ian. They'd played cards together several times while Ian was on break, though Ryou knew it was mostly pity that had motivated the offer more than anything else. Ian was one of the few male nurses in Clayton General, and the only black guy. Several times he'd tried to convince Ryou that nursing was a good career path, but Ryou didn't know what he wanted to do with his life after school. Trying to predict it was far too depressing.

"Argh, foiled!" Francine grudgingly brought out the box and offered it across. "Just don't tell anyone."

"Why would I do that? Then they'd ban him from bringing them in and we'd be back to stale digestives and lukewarm tea." He took a huge bite behind his hand. "Bloody hell, Ryou, these are fantastic."

"You never put on any weight, you sod," Francine complained.

Ryou watched them, enjoying their banter. He'd adopted vicarious living and found relief from his own isolation in fleeting conversations with others, plus watching them interact the way he and his father never did, but used to.

"I have a manly metabolism," Ian protested.

Francine was not impressed. "Yeah, right."

"And I play rugby on my days off."

"Y'know, I've always questioned the manliness of rugby as a sport. Surely all that scrumming, getting up close and personal with dozens of other burly men, and gripping their bums and lunchboxes is more than a little homoerotic. I man, just look at where your head lands when you tackle them. Right in the vitals – if you're lucky."

Ian nearly choked on the bite of brownie he'd just taken.

Ryou politely excused himself after a few minutes of chitchat. They let him go, knowing the way this was supposed to go – the way it always went.

Ryou sat down next to the bed in the small room, segregated from the rest of the wards for long-term use. She was a special case, after all. Her doctors had written theses about her, and always made a detour here when leading medical students on their first guided tour.

On the pillow, the room occupant's hair spread out in a shade identical to his own – not quite white, but too pale to count as blonde. Ryou put down his backpack, fumbled around inside and brought out a brush, then carefully began to work out the tangles. It was surprising how many there were, considering her inactivity. He was gentle, as though if he tugged it would actually be felt. Part of him hoped it was, and that she'd sit up and give him an indignant punch.

"Hey, Amane," he said quietly. "How are things with you?"

His little sister didn't move. Except for breathing and the occasional flicker of her eyes beneath their lids, which always sent her doctors into a flurry, she hadn't moved on her own for three years; not since the car accident that had killed their mother and sent her into a coma. Even so, every day that Ryou came to see her he hoped would be the one she finally responded to the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, or just the feel of his presence next to her.

But not today.

Again.

He sighed. It contained a welter of grief and frustration, but it barely stirred Amane's hair. "Yeah. Nothing's new with me, either."

* * *


	4. Blood on Fire

**A/N****:** Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me …

* * *

**4.** _**Blood on Fire**_

* * *

_Young blood's on fire –_

_Tomadoi wo nugisutete hashire._

_Get back your true hearts!_

-- From **Blood on Fire **by AAA

* * *

Amane was glad not all legends about vampires were true. Take the one about how they couldn't go into places they hadn't been invited, for example. It would've made her life so very difficult to be forever barred from Ryou's apartment.

There were some things the legends had got right, though. Some were good, and some were … not so good. Blood drinking was one that was icky but necessary, though not nearly as crazed as movies, books and campfire stories would have people believe.

_At least_, she thought as she climbed the fire escape and peered in through the window, _I only have to do this once a month. Funny how the finer details of the whole lunar cycle thing got neglected in Dracula_.

Blood pacts were another neglected aspect of vampirism. The media pedalled various images of vampires, though the most long-lasting seemed that of rampant blood-drinkers hanging around young svelte girls' bedrooms like undead perverts, who'd tear out your throat as soon as look at you and gobbled blood like hummingbirds imbibed nectar. Since it involved going public, Amane wasn't in any hurry to publicise the truth and correct this horrible picture. Then there was the more recent idea that vampires were tortured souls who lusted after the living for more than just their blood, but the whole violence angle remained. Vampires were vicious, only out for themselves and their own kind, and those who weren't were the minority. There was no such thing as a truly _nice_ vampire.

Whatever the media pedalled, though, in real life vampires were nothing more than a fairytale or the preserve of sickos who sharpened their teeth and hung around in special clubs listening to grungy music and convincing themselves they really were the walking undead even though they were as mortal as everybody else. Nobody sane actually _believed _in vampires, and Amane was happy to keep it that way, since that made it easier for her to move around undetected. As far as the world knew, Amane Bakura had died in a tragic car accident two years ago and was buried in the grave next to her mother's in England.

The world, however, was misinformed – or at least only had half the story.

Their family had always been strange on both sides, stretching from Japan to Britain with stories of the unexplained. There were rumours that Great-Grandfather Hibiki's madness stemmed from moving to a haunted house in a town called Domino, and that three hundred years ago one of their ancestors used her lover's soul as collateral in a deal with a demon that went badly wrong. Great-Aunt Ethel on their mother's side, who spent her last years in a care home called 'Paradias Heights' (how good could it be, Ryou had always wondered with an anxious frown, if they couldn't even spell 'Paradise' correctly?) and always smelled a little of wee, claimed she was actually a powerful psychic in touch with the Other Side. She used to boast she'd had tea with the spirit of Sylvia Plath, and found her a very tiresome woman with no appreciation for Darjeeling or the Japanese poetry favoured by Ethel's darling-but-a-little-odd Great-Nephew, Daichi – Amane's father.

Even as recently as Daichi Bakura's generation, weird things had been popping up. That tomb he found while on a dig in Egypt, for example, had not been a regular tomb. It had been covered in sigils to keep evil spirits locked inside; seals he'd accidentally broken when he entered, much to his chagrin since they referred to an era of history there was previously no record of, and so were of great archaeological value. Likewise, the artefacts he brought out of it had not been the regular bits of broken pottery and bone, though he said afterward he had no idea how he was able to go straight to them, as if he'd known where they were even though that was impossible.

In short, Amane and Ryou, as the end product of years of supernatural rumours, claims, anecdotes and other freaky experiences, had probably always been destined for lives filled with the arcane. Even so, neither of them could've predicted the turns their lives would take.

Or their deaths.

_More specifically,_ Amane thought, _**my**__ death._ She concentrated hard. Her fingers tingled and the toes of her boots began to dissolve. _Please say I have enough power left to go smoke. I just know I'll wake him if I have to try breaking open the latch again … ah, there we go_.

Amane's fate led beyond that rainy day in a Yorkshire cemetery, when her father and brother paid their last respects and then left under the same black umbrella. At the time it had seemed wonderful, to be given a second chance at the life that had been taken so abruptly from her, but the Bakura family had never had it easy where fate was concerned. As Amane quickly learned, the gift she'd been given by the strange man her mother had swerved to avoid on the rainswept road, consequently ploughing their car into a tree, was complicated.

"_P-please, my Mummy's still in there. You have to save her, too -"_

"_Sorry, hen, no can do. It's too late for her."_

"_But …"_

"_Cripes, you look in a bad way yourself. I never meant to … oh feck, it's a good job tonight isn't a full moon, with all this blood on you."_

"_M-Mumm-myyy …"_

"_You're not long for this world either, are you? Poor little mite. How old are you – ten? Eleven?"_

"_M' twelve."_

"_Really? You look younger. Still too young to suffer just because I wasn't paying attention crossing the bleeding road, though. Who knew there'd be a car way out here in the sticks this late at night?"_

"_It huuuuurts."_

"_Feck. I'm sorry. Christ alive, I … listen, sweetheart; if you like, I can make the pain go away. I can end it all, quick as a flash."_

"_Want my brother. Want Ryou."_

"_There was nobody else in the car except you and your mum."_

"_S'at home. Want Ryou. Want __**Ryou**__."_

"_Don't struggle; you'll just lose more blood. Oh, cripes, you're shattered to pieces inside. This isn't fair. I swore I'd never kill, and now look what I've done."_

"_Don't wanna die. Ryou. Want Ryou. He always makes me feel better. Ryou's my big brother. Daddy's never home, an' now Mummy's gone, so I want Ryou. I want Ryooouuuu …"_

"_Hush, sweetheart, don't cry. Gawd, I was never good with kids. Probably a good thing I can't have any."_

"_It hurts."_

"_It will do."_

"_I don't want to die."_

"_I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. Bloody hell. Should I?"_

"_Mister, don't go away. I'm frightened."_

"_Urgh. Stupid moral decisions. I should just become a bloody hermit or something so I don't have to make them anymore. Listen, sweetheart, what do you know about vampires …?"_

Apparently not as much as she'd thought, because real vampirism wasn't much like the kind pedalled by the media. Real vampires only had to drink blood once a month, for example, when the moon was full. The rest of the time they could either eat regular food or not eat at all. However, if they didn't feed during the full moon they really could go crazy with bloodlust and do all manner of damage. As long as they fed they could maintain their powers and do so much more than just turn into bats and fly. The blood could only come from someone with whom they'd made a blood pact, though – the first person they bit after they were turned and emerged from their graves as nothing more than a cloud of smoke seeping from the ground. For Amane, still clinging to the thought she'd had when she died in the rain in the stranger's arms, that was the person she'd rushed home to see: her big brother, Ryou.

Her love for her brother sealed their fate.

The blood pact sealed them together.

The Millennium Ring sealed their future.

Vampires couldn't walk around in daylight in their human forms, which was a pain. For some reason animal forms which weren't affected the same way, though, and so many adopted those whenever they couldn't sleep and wanted to wander around outside. Vampires didn't have to go to school either, which was brilliant, because it meant Amane could keep an eye on her brother and try to help him as much as she could without him realising she was there. Her favourite form was a small fluffy kitten, which Ryou always petted on _his_ way to school, enjoying the way it purred and thrust its head into his hand, if not knowing the true reason why it was so affectionate.

Amane stared at him in the bed, arms flung over his head like a baby in a cot, one foot jutting from beneath the duvet. He didn't look like he was possessed by an evil spirit. Then again, Amane didn't look like she was a vampire until she bent close and opened her mouth. Only her razor-sharp incisors made her look like she was anything more than a little girl in jeans and a rumpled tee-shirt.

Ryou winced once when her fangs penetrated, but the sedative effect of her saliva kicked in almost immediately, leaving her to drink and replenish her power reserves.

_I'm sorry_, she thought, as she thought every time she had to do this. _You wouldn't have been my first choice as a pacter if I'd known, but by the time I figured it out it was too late_._ I just wanted to see you again, Big Brother. I didn't know what would happen …_

At least the psychic bond of the blood pact had allowed her to erase his memories of the incident. Their first meeting after her return had not been the happy reunion she'd wanted. Instead, Ryou's mind had snapped with grief and disbelief that his little sister had not only returned from the dead, but was standing in their living room with bloodlust in her eyes and his own blood on her teeth. Bad luck had ensured Amane awoke on the night of a full moon, as it had also ensured the mental frailty that plagued Ryou after she fixed the damage she'd done to his psyche, sobbing and cradling him until their father came to investigate and she instinctively turned to smoke and escaped out of the window. Their father thought it was Ryou attempting suicide in his sorrow, and immediately checked his son into a hospital.

Ryou was never the same afterwards. He couldn't remember trying to slash his own throat, though he must have done so, since there had been nobody else in the room when his father found him. Sometimes he would stare at his hands and start to tremble, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking back and forth like he was wearing a straightjacket. He mumbled names and half-phrases, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. Amane got better at sending soothing pulses into his mind to calm him when she had enough power, though it grew progressively more difficult as the moon waxed to fullness and her energy dwindled.

Riddled with guilt, she kept her distance as much as she could. Though she had to visit him once a month, she never allowed Ryou to actually see her in her human form, not realising at first that his condition was only partly her fault. In actual fact, her inexpert meddling inside his head had allowed the evil spirit lurking in the Millennium Ring to gain a better hold over her brother, and it was this that speeded his deterioration, compelling their father to move back to Japan instead of staying in a country where he'd never really felt comfortable – especially without his wife to anchor him there. Ryou was shipped out with him under the reasoning that being away from the places that reminded him of his dead mother and sister would distance him from the impulse to join them.

Of course, Amane followed. She couldn't stay behind – not when her blood pact was with Ryou, and especially not when she finally came across the dark presence prowling his soul and mind. She made a fresh pact, though this one was only with herself.

"I will save you, Big Brother," she'd said as she crouched in the hold of the airplane to Domino City Airport. "Or I'll die again trying to do it."

She owed him that much. She _loved_ him that much. Ryou had always looked after her, no matter what kind of scrape she got herself into. It was Ryou who had comforted her when her friends were catty, and Ryou who had bandaged her up when she tried to discipline the school bully and ended up getting the snot beaten out of her. He'd always been there for her. Now it was her turn to be there for him, even if he could never know.

It was hard, though. She missed him desperately – missed his warm hugs and the sound of his laughter. He never laughed anymore. Perhaps if she'd understood more of her powers, or the enemy she was up against, it would've been easier to bear. Perhaps if she was smarter she'd have been able to figure out an instant solution to the problem. Perhaps if the spirit wasn't so good at losing her when it took control of Ryou's body and went out at night, leaving her to wander the streets searching in vain for Ryou's repressed mental signature … perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Perhaps if the strange man had just let her die instead of giving in to his own guilt, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of this. But he had, because although he had been a vampire, he hadn't been a bad person. Vampires weren't intrinsically evil, and they weren't infallible, either. Amane knew _that_ firsthand.

It was hard being your big brother's protector with so much stacked against you.

She unlatched herself from Ryou's neck, careful not to take too much blood or to accidentally tear his skin. Some unscrupulous vampires made multiple blood pacts, killing off the humans they'd pacted with when they got bored of them and wanted to move on. They used the psychic bonds to make their pacters do awful things, controlling their thoughts the way the Spirit of the Millennium Ring controlled Ryou. Amane may have only been twelve when she died, but she'd grown up a hell of a lot in the following two years, and the instincts of a vampire meant she felt no compunction about hunting down any who did such terrible things in Domino City.

"Nobody has the right to control someone else like that!" she'd spat at the last one, right before she shoved him out into the sunlight before he had a chance to transform. "You make me sick!" He'd turned to ash instantly, and Amane had watched it blow away, wishing the mind-control of the Millennium Ring was as easy to undo.

As always after feeding she felt itchy and eager to burn off her restlessness. She could've gone running over the rooftops, or turned into something with wings and soared away into the night. Once, when they were still in England, she pulled a real Dracula and transformed into a wolf, then went running across the moors. It had caused quite a stir when someone snapped a picture.

But now she hunkered down next to the bed and gently stroked Ryou's cheek, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. He wouldn't wake, even at her touch. She savoured this brief period when she could get close to him without worrying about more mental scars. When she wasn't fighting the Spirit she preferred to give Ryou his privacy and stay out of his mind.

"Big Brother, you need some friends," she advised, spotting the pile of fresh envelopes addressed to their old house in England, and headed by her name. He never sent them. Why would he? She was dead, after all. He never talked to their father, either. Daichi Bakura spent so much time on digs trying to keep away from his son's corrosive misery that Amane had almost forgotten what he looked like. "You should be talking to _them_ about the things you write in your letters."

Ryou didn't say a word. Their psychic bond had been made sharper by the freshly exchanged blood, and Amane could feel his thoughts like a calm sea, lapping against her own.

_You need some friends_, she gently thought at him, not insisting or compelling, just suggesting. _What about that Yuugi boy I've seen you with? He seems nice_._ Very non-threatening. He's nice to cats and seems to like you._

Again, Ryou said nothing, though Amane knew that if he'd been awake he would have immediately gone to the argument that people who befriended him inevitably ended up getting hurt.

That damn Spirit was ruining everything in his life, and he didn't even know it was there.

Amane sighed. "I love you, Big Brother." _I do love you. And Daddy. I never stopped. Not once. Not for a second. Not even when you screamed and were frightened of me, or when he abandoned you here with that stupid Ring. You know that, right? _

Ryou's thoughts stirred, but with a sinking heart Amane sensed the Spirit unfolding its tendrils, tightening them over her brother and glaring balefully at her with eyes it didn't, actually, have.

_I won't let it take you - _"Big Brother", she half-thought, half-gritted, preparing herself for another round in her battle with the Spirit. _Not ever. _

Amane Bakura was many things – vampire, little sister, dead daughter, defender of the innocent, Ryou's protector, name on an unsent letter, fluffy kitten – but she was _not_ a quitter.

* * *


	5. When I Return to the World

**A/N****:** This last chapter took a long time because the original version grew out of control, and has now become its own fic. Stand by for it to be uploaded as a separate story called _'On Little Cat Feet'_ sometime in the near future. Thanks to everyone who has supported and been patient with me throughout this project, and thanks also to Marian Babson, whose books inspired me to go back and finish this when I'd thought I never would.

* * *

**5. _When I Return to the World_**

* * *

_When I return to the world,  
Who's going to know I was here?  
__You'll never know I was there,_

_But I was there!_

-- From **When I Return to the World **by Lorraine.

* * *

"Just go on through and sit down. I'll make everyone something to eat and drink." Bakura waved a hand vaguely at the doorway, not even looking at them. He'd been tense ever since he made the offer for them to come over to his apartment after school. Anzu heard him muttering under his breath as he went into the tiny kitchenette. "Please say I remembered to pick up milk when I went to the bakery …"

Bakura's apartment was miniscule. There was no other way of putting it. When she, Yuugi, Honda, Jounouchi and Otogi went into the 'sitting room' they barely fit, and couldn't all sit down on the two-seater sofa and single armchair. It was bizarre to think both Bakura and his father lived here – although in his father's case it was more of a stopover between trips abroad. For the most part Bakura lived alone, taking care of himself and living the kind of quiet, inconspicuous life that had made it far too easy for the Spirit of the Millennium Ring to take over without anyone noticing.

They could hear Bakura moving around, periodic noises signalling he'd dropped something or opened a cupboard with too much force.

"Bugger!"

"You okay in there?" Yuugi called.

"Fine, fine, just spilled the sugar. Nothing to worry about."

"Would you like some help -"

"No, I can manage. You can switch on the TV if you like."

Jounouchi gratefully grabbed up the remote, but then he just stared at it. After a moment he tossed it at Otogi, who passed it to Honda. Honda sighed and put it back on the coffee table.

"Well this is awkward," he murmured. "Why exactly are we here again? We've never been to Bakura's before." He looked around, indicating the lack of space with them all crammed in. It was claustrophobic in the extreme.

"For exactly that reason," Yuugi murmured in an equally soft voice. "We've never been here before. We always gather at my place, or Anzu's house, or Otogi's – and we've never invited Bakura over. Not once."

Yuugi shook his head. Anzu knew what thoughts would be ricocheting around inside it: that they should have reached out more, should have been able to tell that Bakura was being possessed by an evil spirit. It had been going on for months, and not one of them had realised. This weighed especially heavily on Yuugi, though Bakura had never accused them of neglect. Quite the contrary – he had _thanked_ them for banishing the spirit and finally freeing him of its influence.

Still, Anzu knew how Yuugi felt, mainly because she felt it too. They all did. After all their high-handed words about how much friendship meant to them, they'd failed one of their own in the worst possible way. No amount of apologising was going to make that okay – may never make it okay.

Requests for forgiveness actually made Bakura uncomfortable. He wasn't given to displays of deep emotion – another reason it had been easy for the spirit to walk about in his body unnoticed. Bakura was used to keeping his head down and blending into the background. He'd spent a long time perfecting his technique. He'd tried to go back to that after Egypt, but they'd learned their lesson and refused to let him be alone anymore.

Because Bakura _was_ alone. The more they looked, the more they'd realised just how isolated he was. It was rather chilling, actually, how easy it was for one person to be there and yet not be there; how a regular teenager could go to your school, sit in your classroom, read aloud from the same textbook, even share your after-school cleaning duty – a bonding session for all involved, if only because it united you against the faculty for making you mop floors and clap chalkboard erasers – and yet that person could still be a total stranger.

Anzu had been shocked when she comprehended that, despite several people having crushes on him, Bakura didn't interact with anyone at school. Not of his own accord, at least. He had no friends but their little group and never showed any interest in making others, or even in keeping _their_ friendship as anything but a step above acquaintances. He responded when she and the rest of the gang reached out, and he'd step in if they needed help, but he never sought them out for simple things like company or conversation. He never volunteered stuff about himself unless pressed. He never asked for anything – no favours, no comfort, no support, no _time_.

Even following all his traumatic experiences, he seemed committed to going through life as overlooked and unneeded as possible. Most distressing of all was his clear certainty that he shouldn't expect anything more for himself. Under his bright smile and politeness, Ryou Bakura was even more of a martyr than Yuugi.

And considering what she knew about Yuugi, to Anzu that was just plain terrifying.

Obviously, they couldn't carry on that way. Before, it had been easy to forget Bakura when they arranged to go out or meet up. It had been simple to carry on a conversation while he sat a few desks away, and not even think about him asking him to join in, or expect him to join in on his own. It had been easy just to forget him when he wasn't there – and even when he was. Anzu felt sick when she thought about it. Some friends they were.

If they'd taken a little more interest, pushed a little harder, could they have prevented everything? Would they have noticed what was happening to Bakura and been able to stop it? Who knew the kind of scars he now carried? He was too good at hiding what he felt. Still, having your soul pinned down, unable to get free no matter how hard you struggled, and losing chunks of your life while someone else used your body like it was their own, use it to steal and murder …

The sick feeling just increased, the more she thought about it.

Now they made a conscious effort to include Bakura in whatever they did. It was motivated by guilt, sure, but they tried to hide that. They didn't want him to ever feel left out, or alone, or like he didn't have anyone who would stick up for him if he needed them. They also wanted to assess the damage and see what, if anything, they could do to repair it.

To say the arrangement felt artificial would be a horrendous understatement. Bakura was so used to his independence that he chafed at them constantly being around, but was too polite to tell them to go away. They, in turn, felt surplus to requirements with every bit of his life they uncovered that they hadn't known before. Bakura had his routines and his little world, which he had diligently built up around him like the protective walls of a castle. He was cautiously lowering the drawbridge, bit by bit, but it was obvious it would be a long time before they'd be able to cross it.

Still, they persevered. There was no way they could do anything else; not without becoming _complete_ hypocrites.

"I spy with my little eye," Otogi said suddenly, in that bored tone he used when he was so on edge he couldn't bear to show it, "something beginning with 'c'."

"Crappy atmosphere?" Honda tried.

"Can't believe we've never been here before?" Anzu offered.

"Can we just go home now?" muttered Jounouchi. "Ow! Fucking hell, Anzu!"

"Don't cuss."

"Don't nearly pull my fucking ear off. _Ow!_"

"Children, children, if you can't play nice I'm going to have to separate you. Besides, you're all wrong." Otogi shook his head and pointed. "Cat."

As one, grateful for something else to focus on, they followed his finger to the top of the open door. A fluffy white cat balanced on the impossibly narrow strip of wood. One push of the door would have dislodged it. Maybe that was why Bakura had left it open when he went to school that morning.

The cat was watching them intently, luminous green eyes fixed on Otogi. You could almost believe it was irritated at him for giving away its presence. It didn't close its eyes and try to sleep, or come down to investigate these strange invaders, the way any normal cat would. Instead it continued to watch, shifting its gaze from one face to another as if committing them to memory.

"That is one creepy cat," said Jounouchi. He shivered. "It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

"Bakura never mentioned he had a cat," said Anzu.

"Maybe it's not his," Yuugi suggested. "He could be pet-sitting or something."

This theory was disproved when Bakura appeared in the doorway bearing a large tea tray. The cat mewed once in warning, and then leaped down onto his shoulder, where it arranged itself facing forward so it could see all that was going on without falling off. Bakura dipped slightly under the weight, but the mere fact he didn't drop the tray or act surprised told them this wasn't anything new.

"This is your cat?" Anzu realised with a jolt that it was she who'd spoken.

Bakura looked up. "Hm? Oh, yes." He set the tray down on the coffee table and reached up to scratch behind its ears.

"You never told us you had a cat," said Jounouchi. Anzu glared at him for his accusing tone. He spread his hands in a typical _What did I do wrong __**now**__?_ gesture.

"Didn't I?" Bakura frowned. "I'm sure I must have."

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Never."

The cat turned a look on Bakura that could only be described as peeved. Anzu hadn't known cats could be so expressive with just a look. Her family were dog people and had never had much time for cats.

"Oh. Well then." Bakura scratched again – left shoulder, left hand, like he was doing a complicated version of 'I'm a Little Teapot'. The action had the practised ease that said it, too, was a longstanding one, equal parts placating the cat and nervous habit. "I guess introductions are in order, then. Everyone, this is Alice. Alice; everyone."

Another peevish look, this one tinged with exasperation as well.

_Okay, now you're just being silly_, Anzu thought to herself. _You're just personifying it. Cats don't have emotions the same way humans do. And you certainly aren't perceptive enough to read them in its eyes, even if it did have them. Which it doesn't. Duh, it's a __**cat**__._ _Stop reading too much into things. _

Which was when Yuugi, very solemnly, got up and bowed a formal greeting. "Nice to meet you, Alice. I'm Yuugi."

The beat that followed this seemed to go on forever. Anzu waited for the other shoe to drop. Yuugi wasn't the type of guy to mock, but at the same time what he was doing was so ridiculous it was almost surreal.

Or was it? Yuugi was a lot more perceptive than the rest of them. He'd proven it time and time again. Had he picked up on something she'd missed? Had he read into Bakura's obvious affection for his pet and seen a way to connect with him that might actually work? More so than their previous ham-fisted attempts to find common ground that _wasn't_ anything to do with Duel Monsters.

Alice stared at the top of Yuugi's head, the tips of her front paws just visible beneath her chest-ruff. Her white fur blended with Ryou's hair. Odd, how well they matched, considering the difference in species – almost exactly the same shade and texture, so you couldn't tell exactly where one ended and the other began. It gave the impression of a boy with two heads, or a cat with a very strange verruca.

"Mrow."

The tension escalated like an overfull balloon, and then popped abruptly.

"I guess you pass muster," Bakura said with far more warmth than Anzu had heard from him in a long time.

"Pass mustard?" Jounouchi blinked. "What's mustard got to do with it?"

Otogi rolled his eyes. "Idiot. He means we measure up."

"Huh?" Jounouchi clearly still didn't understand.

"We check out. We qualify. We come up to scratch."

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" He looked around the group. "Did I miss something? What are you laughing at? C'mon, quit it!"

"That's Jounouchi," Anzu sniggered, pushing aside the fact she was not only talking to a cat, she was talking to it like it was human and understood more than just the tone of her voice. "He's a moron, but deep down, he's actually a pretty good guy under all that stupidity." She paused. "_Deep_ down. _Very_ deep down. Deeper than the deepest canyon in the deepest ocean. Deeper than -"

"Okay, okay, we get the message! Jeez, overegg the pudding, why doncha?"

"We mostly keep him around for the entertainment value."

Jounouchi glowered at her. "Well _she's_ Anzu, and _she's_ the bossiest piece of … um, work you'll ever not wanna meet. She sticks her nose into everyone's business, gets up in your face about every little thing, and thinks she knows best just because she comes top in her tests and junk like that."

"A feeling _you'd_ know nothing about, Jounouchi," Anzu said sweetly. "Passing tests _or_ knowing what's best."

"Says you."

"Only because nobody else will tell you the truth."

"Why I oughta -"

"They do this all the time," Honda said wearily. "You get used to it after a while. Just clear the area if they really get going, or you might become collateral damage."

Alice watched everything with a disturbingly intelligent gleam in her eyes. She seemed almost to be enjoying the argument and the chaos it promised. Her head ticked back and forth between Jounouchi and Anzu like an audience member at a ping-pong match. "Mrrrryeow."

They went on introducing themselves. It didn't get any less surreal, since Alice meowed a reply to each of them in a different pitch and tone, as if holding forth about something very important, if only they could translate from cat to human. Bakura went on pouring the tea and handing out biscuits and pastries. Anzu accepted hers but didn't look at her plate, too entranced by the sight of a fluffy white cat jumping into Jounouchi's lap, placing a paw on either of his shoulders, and staring him into submission when he started arguing with her again. After a few moments she actually _looked over her shoulder_ and made a muttering sound, before curling up in his lap to watch proceedings from a new vantage point.

Suddenly conversation seemed to flow much more freely and easily. Bakura smiled, laughed, even joked with them, and before they knew it evening was falling outside and the tea had gone cold.

Anzu nibbled her fourth lavender cream, a cookie-like confection Bakura said he stocked up on during those infrequent visits to England. Beside her, Yuugi held a delicate teacup decorated with a rose frieze that was so stereotypically English she half expected a plate of crumpets and a set of fox-hounds to materialise next to a roaring fire in an open hearth. Yuugi's kitchen housed only chipped mugs and comedy coffee beakers collected by Grandpa Mutou over a lifetime of Father's Day gifts. The teacup should have looked odd in Yuugi's hands, but it actually looked reassuring.

Against all expectations, Anzu felt suddenly very … comfy.

"So, Bakura, did you bring your cat with you when you moved here?" Jounouchi, absently scratching Alice between her ears, also displaying a degree of cosiness Anzu wouldn't have predicted when they first walked through the door. "Does this thing meow in English or Japanese?"

Bakura froze.

Anzu felt her breath catch. _Jounouchi, you idiot. What did you say wrong?_

"Um, actually, she's not really my cat," Bakura murmured.

"Say what?" Jounouchi frowned. "Looks like yours to me."

Bakura crumbled a lavender cream between his thumb and forefinger. "She belonged to my sister. Or her mother did. Alice was born the day after …" He flushed, just as uncomfortable as ever, despite the sudden leap in progress. The slamming of brakes was almost audible – likewise the screech as a U-turn loomed.

Alice leapt from Jounouchi's lap and twined in and out of Bakura's ankles.

Bakura brushed crumbs from his hands and picked her up, unashamedly burying his face in her belly-fur. "Alice's litter was born the day after my mother and sister died in a car accident. We were supposed to look after them, my sister and I. We'd done all the research, taken care of all the preparation. It was our project together. But then …" He shook himself. "The details of what happened aren't important. What matters is that Alice was supposed to belong to my little sister, Amane, so I've always rather felt like I'm just cat-sitting for her." He smiled ruefully. "Stupid, I know. It's not like Amane will be coming back to collect her anytime soon, but … well, there you have it." He took a breath, as if for strength. "Just another indication of how abnormal I am, eh?" His voice was jovial, but falsely.

Anzu's throat felt very thick, as if she'd swallowed a treacle sandwich on molasses bread. Bakura's words struck like bullets, though she didn't think he intended them to be tactless. Instead, she thought he intended them as an acknowledgement of his own eccentricities – an attempt to laugh about the weirdness that characterised all their lives. Except that this time, the topic was closer to the bone than ancient spirits or Egyptian magic. It was easier to joke about deciding the fate of the world with a children's card game than it was to joke about grief and basic human pain.

Whatever his reason, Anzu disagreed with what he'd said. He wasn't abnormal, not that way, and the details _were_ important. It was neglecting the details that had caused all the problems so far.

"I don't think it's stupid."

She heard the words, and for a second thought it was Yuugi stepping up to the plate again. It was the kind of thing he'd say. Then she saw his face, and realised she was wrong. _Bizarrely_ wrong.

"Not in the slightest," Otogi went on. "You can't rationalise emotions. The fact you've kept the cat around, even bringing it with you when you emigrated, shows how much you miss your sister. It'd be more hurtful than you're capable of being, to get rid of it just because you don't feel like it's yours."

Alice yowled.

"Sorry," Otogi said without batting an eyelid. "Because you don't feel like _she's_ yours."

A frown pleated Bakura's forehead. "You're saying _I'm_ not hurtful?" he echoed incredulously.

Otogi fixed him with a stare that could, and had, reduced company executives to quivering plates of jelly. Anzu used to think the scourge of the boardroom was Seto Kaiba, until she overheard Otogi's secretary talking to his PA. "_You're_ not."

The two words hung in the air like a cartoon raincloud waiting to rain on someone. Nobody said a thing. It reminded Anzu of a classroom right after the teacher has gone ballistic and thrown a textbook out of a window. Possibly without opening it first.

Then Alice broke the tension by pouncing on the plate of biscuits, scattering them everywhere. The plate scraped as the momentum of her jump carried both it and her across the coffee table. She shot off the end with a yowl and landed in a heap, the plate and its many crumbs plunking on top of her a millisecond later. A thin wail went up – the noise of a long-haired cat who has spent all day cleaning, at the expense of bringing up hairballs, suddenly finding it has to do it all over again.

She stalked out from under the plate and grumbled her annoyance to Bakura, butting his shins with her head until he picked her up again. Once in his arms, however, instead of cleaning herself she set about vigorously licking his face, as if to say: _There now. Public humiliation over with. Now I've sacrificed my dignity for you, can you go back to normal and stop being so sad?_

As if on cue, Otogi chimed in with, "Can we all quit with the war orphan faces so I can get off this soapbox?"

Bakura pushed Alice's face away. She yowled, so he let her return to cleaning him, her tail lashing in the manner of one who knows exactly what to do to improve every situation, if only people would stop thinking of her as a dumb animal and _listen_.

Anzu watched with surprise. Bakura was so affectionate with Alice – genuinely caring, not just the facsimile he used outside his home. The well-mannered, polite boy she'd gotten to know abandoned propriety and allowed himself to be covered in cat spit and biscuit crumbs, out of the kind of pure love people always kept private because that level of emotion was embarrassing when seen by those not directly involved in it. He made noises rather like purring himself, and her throat felt very thick again.

"Ryou?"

Bakura was startled. "What did you call me?"

"I … was wondering …" Anzu was embarrassed. "We've known you a long time now, right? But … um … well, would it be okay if we stopped calling you by your surname and used your first name instead? Like they do in England?"

Bakura stared at her.

"It just seems really formal for friends … and given your background … Of course, if you'd rather stick to using your surname the way Honda, Jounouchi and Otogi do, that's fine as well. It was just an idea. Y'know, because you sometimes still put your names the Western way around when you write, so I thought … if you think of yourself as Ryou more than as Bakura … maybe …"

"That's very thoughtful of you." A slow smile spread across his face, unlike the usual discomfort that appeared when one of them tried to be thoughtful. For once, someone had got it right. The relief inside Anzu was like an unclenching fist. "I'd be flattered for you to use my first name. Honoured, in fact."

"Don't get all mushy about it, dude," Jounouchi muttered. "You always use big words and act so posh and dignified. You're with us now, buddy. Dignity's got nothing to do with it." He picked up one of the scattered lavender creams, which trailed several long white hairs, and put it in his mouth.

Honda, Otogi and Anzu all rolled their eyes. Yuugi just looked on with quiet, resigned amusement.

"And don't we know it," Anzu muttered.

"Mre-he-he-ow!" Alice opined, and Anzu could've sworn she was laughing.

* * *

_**Fin. **_

* * *


End file.
